Take the Bait
by Skalidra
Summary: Roy and Dick are old friends, and have been partners for years. Jason is Dick's younger brother, and he's been taunting Roy for a long time in small, technically illegal but not actually harmful ways. Roy knows, eventually, he's going to have to actually do something about it. One way or another.


Last day of JayRoy week! Alright, so this day had several prompts, but I chose 'Handcuffs.' Cop!Roy? Yes please! (Enjoy!)

 **Warnings** for: BDSM, Dom/sub, spanking, restraints, and underage drinking.

* * *

It's a collection of tiny things, really. Like how when he walks out of the station with Dick at his side, shift over and done with, Jason is sitting against the hood of a very expensive, very shiny, black convertible that's parked at least a foot over the dividing lines of the next spot over. He cuts off mid-sentence, frowning a little bit, and Dick — not helpful; not even a little — snorts and nudges his shoulder, all but skipping down the steps to where his brother is waiting. Jason gives a too-knowing grin and straightens up, handing the keys off to Dick and then circling around the hood as he approaches at a slower walk.

He stops in front of the car, crossing his arms as he looks down at the car. Jason's paused near the other corner of the hood, eyes just slightly narrowed, grin very much still there.

"That's a terrible parking job," he comments, with just slight resignation.

The car purrs to life under Dick's touch, and Jason gives a smooth, rolling shrug and says, "So give me a ticket, _Officer_."

Not that it would matter even if he did. Dick's car, and they're both Waynes so tickets have a way of vanishing from the systems as soon as they actually get put in. As if that relatively small of an amount would make a difference to the Wayne fortune, apart from their dad being 'disappointed' in them and 'apologetic' to the system. Really not worth the hassle, even if he does kind of want to actually take the kid up on his challenge one of these days.

For something else though; not giving a ticket that will end up on Dick's desk.

"You're pushing your luck," he points out, instead of actually making a move.

"Well," Jason counters, shifting a step closer and — _oh yeah_ , Dick's kid brother grew up real tall — looking down at him, "I've been real lucky so far. See you around, Roy."

In front of the police station, while he's off duty and Dick is _right there_ , is definitely not the time to do this. So he lets Jason turn and finish the circuit around the car, sliding into the passenger seat and clicking the seat belt on; he never actually does anything that's legitimately dangerous, just annoying, tiny things that are technically illegal. Enough to get him a ticket, maybe even an actual court case, but never anything heavier than a fine. If anything ever went through; the Waynes have serious lawyers for any and all problems.

Dick waves, Jason blows him a mocking kiss, and he watches the pair of them pull away. Back to the almost-out-of-town manor, no doubt. He's been a few times, at Dick's invitation. Parties, mainly, or to do some off-the-clock work on cases. Not that he can really concentrate with Dick's whole family hanging around. Jason, most notably. Back when Dick was still a newbie, and they'd only just been assigned as partners, it was just that Jason had a million questions, and it was pretty hard to work on sometimes graphic, always confidential cases with him poking his nose in.

Then Jason sprouted up to six foot one, became _muscle_ and a devil-may-care attitude behind an easy grin, and the dynamic took a sharp turn into not-so-appropriate lands. But no matter how physically attractive Jason became, no matter how low his voice dropped, he's still Dick's kid brother. And he's still _young_.

He's pretty damn sure that being attracted to your partner's twenty-year-old little sibling, with an almost five year age difference, is a bad thing. Not that Dick seems to actually mind, at all.

"Your brother's taunting me," he comments a week later, over his coffee, and after another four encounters and another four times of tiny, illegal things being blatantly paraded in front of him.

Dick, leaning over the opposite side of the desk, eyes narrowed down at their case files, sets his own coffee down and just says, "Mmhmm; I know."

He raises his gaze, really peering over at Dick, who doesn't even bother to pretend to look back at him. "And you haven't, I dunno, tried to stop him?"

 _Then_ Dick looks up, one corner of his mouth curling a bit. "Do you want me to?"

He pauses, and then pretty unconvincingly manages, "Maybe."

Dick's mouth curls into a sharper smirk. "Uh-huh." The attention drops back down to the case files, and Dick cracks the knuckles of one hand first, and then the other. "You know, if you tell him to stop he will. Like, actually tell him. Not just verbal sparring, but a real 'no.' Jason's a good kid."

He grunts. "He's been breaking laws in front of me — and _you_ — since he turned eighteen. Why haven't _you_ stopped him? I mean, it's aimed at me, but you're there too. Shouldn't you be upholding the laws of the city or something?"

"He's not hurting anybody." Dick looks up again, reaching for his own coffee and holding his gaze. "You know, _you_ could stop him. Officially. If you actually meet the taunting he might back down. Or, I mean, he might just think it's really hot."

He almost chokes on his coffee, and Dick snickers right up until he exclaims, "Dick, he's _twenty_. He's your brother!"

"So? He's legal; it's his choice." Dick grins, more than a little bit of mischief in his eyes. "Do you think he'd fall on the 'impressed' or 'freaked out' side of things if he knew we'd slept together?"

"Oh my god. You— You are a _terrible_ influence. I don't know how the hell anyone falls for your golden boy act, you trouble-making workaholic."

And Dick flashes a charming, winning, _camera-smile_. "It's the looks," he says all too sweetly. _Knowing_ Dick, and having worked next to him for years, he knows how painfully fake it is. Dick changes into this bizarre social butterfly in front of cameras, or at parties hosted by any of the Wayne family members. It's a little creepy.

"Do _not_ tell him," he threatens, over the desk. "You are not telling your little brother we had sex. Don't do it, Dick."

"Sure," Dick answers, sounding sincere enough. "I'm _also_ not stopping him. So you should handle that at some point. However you want to interpret that."

" _Terrible_ influence," he repeats.

* * *

He manages to mostly ignore it for another three months, even with Dick's teasing, utterly unhelpful comments.

This would all be so much easier if Jason wasn't _really attractive_. He's tall and fit and Dick can tease all he wants but he _does_ have a bit of a thing for the black hair and blue eyes combo, and that fits the whole Wayne family, which is utterly ridiculous. They're not even blood-related; the only actually related kid of the whole bunch is the youngest one, Damian. Tim, Jason, and Dick were all adopted, and he's half-wondered if Bruce has a thing about that look too, or if it's just coincidence. Not that he thinks that Bruce would actually be inappropriate or fucked up about it, but maybe there's some psychological thing about it being easier to sympathize with kids that have the same looks as you?

Or something.

Or maybe it's the whole trauma aspect of it. Orphans by violent means; accident on Dick's part, murder on Tim's, and Jason is… somewhere in the middle. He remembers the cut and dry story from the news, but that doesn't really mean much. Vanished dad, overdosed mom, and a couple years on the streets before Bruce ran into him and he got taken in. It's a shitty story with a good ending.

If he'd known Jason better when he was younger, or had spent enough time around him to watch him actually grow up, maybe this wouldn't be a problem. Maybe he'd remember all the awkwardness of Jason's strange teenage years, instead of just suddenly seeing him again one day, a foot and a half taller and suddenly looking like a _man_. Looking _up_ instead of down should not have been the shock that it was. Dick was no help, even from the start. At first with — it's clear now — feigned ignorance, then with amusement.

And he's been watching Jason park badly, smoke near no-smoking signs, sit against police cars he shouldn't be touching, and a dozen other small things all clearly, specifically tailored to catch his attention. He's not entirely sure _why_ though, which is a problem. Is Jason actually attracted to him, teasing him, or just messing with him as the younger brother of his best friend? What's he supposed to _do_ about it, anyway? He's not really sure he wants to flat out tell Jason to stop, but if he approaches differently and that's not welcome…

In the back of his head, there's still the thought that this is Dick's _brother_. Almost-encouragement or not.

He knows it's going to be an _interesting_ night the first time he hears that the Waynes are hosting — at their manor, of course — a charity event for the GCPD. Of course, as Dick's partner, he pretty much has to be there. And of course, Jason's going to be there too.

He goes anyway.

It's a fun time, actually. Good music, lots of friends, and Dick is mostly involved in other conversations but there's still plenty of people to talk to around the room. Other officers, friends of the Wayne family, friends and families of his coworkers. And Jason is there too; naturally. Across the room, for the most part, and standing next to the third son of the Wayne family, Tim. He passes close to them a few times, but for the most part Jason doesn't even seem to be interested in interacting with him.

He also definitely doesn't notice that Jason is in a well-fitting suit, only lacking a tie, the formal white shirt beneath open at the collar to show a slice of skin. Absolutely, doesn't notice at all.

Halfway through the night, the room gets a little stifling. Hot, with the crowd of people mingling, even with the open windows. Doesn't help that he's in full, dress uniform, and he doesn't really want to be the first person to strip down a layer because of the heat. (Bad enough, according to certain superiors, that he hasn't cut his long hair yet.) So he excuses himself, heading outside and into the relative quiet of the grounds. Music spills out through the open windows, and the chatter of conversation, but it's still miles better than what's inside.

He avoids the hedge maze, and circles around the house instead, wandering through the gardens and into one of the more secluded corners that Dick's showed him over the years. Back up against the house, behind an ornamental tree and half a hedge; there's a stone bench back here that Dick told him is basically their family's hidden place. For when the cameras and lights and people are just too much, and they need a minute to breathe. Hard to find, if you don't know where you're looking.

He sets his hat aside on the bench, sighing as he runs a hand through his hair to shake it out of the coiled pile it's been in on the top of his head. Only so many ways to hide long hair, and hats come in handy. He tugs the gloves off next, flexing his fingers out and enjoying the cool air on his skin.

There are footsteps, a small rustle, and then he looks up as a man steps around the corner. Dick, he thinks for a second, until his gaze has to rise too far, and passes over a suit on the way up, not a uniform. Jason smirks down at him, stepping forward to lean back against the wall, and his gaze fixes for a second on the bottle in Jason's hand. Alcohol. Beer, not the champagne usually favored at these events, but _still_.

"Needed to get out for a minute?" Jason asks, and he _knows_ it's deliberate how Jason takes a long, slow drink from the bottle, holding his gaze the whole time.

He gets to his feet.

"You're not twenty-one yet," he points out, instead of answering the question.

Jason swirls the bottle, looks down at it for a second. "No, I'm not. Fancy that."

It's the same outright challenge that's been going on for years. The same _dare_ to do something. He takes a slow breath in, registering the relative silence around them, the fact that they're actually _alone_ for the first time in a very long time, without Dick there or the audience of the public. If he's going to do something, now would be the time, wouldn't it? To teach Jason that there are consequences to what he's doing, even if no real harm is meant by it.

"Put it down," he orders, shifting a little closer to stand just in front of Jason. "You shouldn't be drinking, Jason."

"And yet I am," is the only answer. Jason's mouth curls in a little grin. "What, going to do something about it this time?"

Another slow breath, to keep himself still. His frustration leaks through into his voice anyway. "What's the point of this? What is it you want from me, Jason? You _know_ no tickets would stick even if I wrote them so why do you keep _baiting_ me?"

Jason shifts forward off the wall, stepping closer and tilting his head to look down at him. "Maybe I'm just looking to see if you've got the teeth to _bite_ , Officer."

The bottle rises again, to Jason's lips, and the frustration boils over into sudden _action_.

He strikes, grabbing Jason's wrist and elbow and twisting it, forcing the younger man to twist how he wants with a sharp gasp. The bottle drops to the dirt, and he _shoves_ Jason face first into the wall, holding him there with a hard hand at his shoulder, and the other locked around his wrist and twisting it to keep his elbow locked into extension. Jason gives a low groan, but doesn't fight his hold, even as the fingers of his other hand dig into the wall, and his head turns to look back at him over his pinned shoulder.

"So you _do_ have teeth," Jason breathes, mouth in a sharp little grin. "You know I was starting to really wonder whether you had the _balls_ to actually come at me. Getting physical with it too; A-plus, _Officer Harper_."

There's something dangerous twisting up in his chest, and the worst part is that he recognizes it, but is pretty sure he can't stop it. "This ends _now_ ," he says, trying to finish this before the thing in his chest gets too strong to brush away. "You're going to stop breaking the law. You want to keep baiting me, you find a different way. Am I understood?"

Jason shifts, shoulder pressing back against his hand. It must be painful, but Jason's grin stays and all that gets out is another small groan before he says, "Why should I? Seems to get your attention."

He can't help the way his lip curls up, baring the teeth he _absolutely_ has. "You want my attention? You've got it. But you might not like where this goes if you keep pressing me, and you should take that as a _warning_ , Jason." He leans in a little closer, bending Jason's arm back at an angle he _knows_ will make his shoulder ache. "Now, am I _understood?_ "

Jason takes a couple sharp breaths, eyes squeezed shut and mouth fallen from a grin to bared, clenched teeth. Then he grits out, "Yes."

Before he even thinks about it, before he can tell himself what a terrible idea it is, he demands, "Yes, _what?_ "

Jason's eyes flicker wide, and then — something clicks in his head — lower till Jason's gaze is on his own shoulder as he answers, "Yes, _sir_."

That's too satisfying. Too good. But the gears spinning into place in his head hook everything together. All the blatant challenges, the baiting, and these reactions here. Jason's a lot more than just an arrogant brat, and oh _no_ he's fallen in a little too deep now. Dick doesn't know, has never known because they were too casual, but he has more than a little bit of appreciation for a pretty boy calling him _sir_. Jason would have no way to know that either.

He eases the strain on Jason's shoulder, still holding him partially pinned, but it shouldn't be painful any more. "You're going to keep baiting me, aren't you?"

Jason looks up, single visible eye meeting his gaze. There's something there, something dark, when he answers, "Yes, sir."

"Even now that you know I'll bite back?"

The curl of a small smirk; equally dark. "You haven't bitten me yet, Officer. All I hear are words."

He should stop. He should take his hat and gloves and he should just _go_.

He twists Jason's arm down instead, pinning his wrist at the small of his back so he can let the other hand slide over and press _hard_ between his shoulder blades for a moment. "You really want to push me, Jason?" he asks. "You really want to go down this road with me?"

Jason's smirk twists a little higher. "Have I said _no_ yet, _Roy?_ "

He has to take another slow breath so he doesn't shove Jason's head into the wall and correct what he's been called. "You should quit while you're ahead," he tries, curling his fingers into the back of Jason's jacket. "Give me one apology and this can end here, Jason. Just one word."

Jason's legs shift, digging into the ground, _bracing_. He registers that change of stance at the same time as Jason _growls_ back at him, dark and deep and threatening, " _Make_ me."

That's a challenge he can't turn down. He lifts his hand from between Jason's shoulder blades and grabs a fistful of his hair, shoving his face against the wall and stepping in to press against his back. "You tell me when you're done, you understand? When you can't take anymore — when you're ready to _stop_ — you _tell me._ Is that clear?"

Jason snarls, jerking against his hands. "I can take anything you can dish out."

He _wrenches_ at Jason's hair, jerking his neck into an arch and then spitting in his ear, "No, you _can't_. Now you answer my question, or I walk away and you never get this chance again. You will _tell_ me when you're done. Am. I. _Clear?_ "

"You're clear," Jason grits out, breathing a little harder now.

"How do you address me?" he demands, tugging at Jason's hair again, twisting his wrist to an angle he's sure will hurt.

Jason groans, shivers against him, and then breathes, "Sir. _Fuck_ , sir."

"Better," he allows, easing both his grips. "Now we're going to go inside, through one of the back entrances, and you're going to take me up to your room. Then I'm going to bruise you, I'm going to _hurt_ you, and I'm going to teach you a little discipline. Do you have a problem with any of that, Jason?"

"No, sir," Jason answers, tense but not fighting him.

"Good."

He shoves Jason back against the wall, then lets go and turns away to collect his hat and gloves from the bench. When he turns back Jason is looking at him, back to the wall now, eyes narrowed and calculating but mouth absent of a grin. He steps forward, reaching out with his free hand and tracing over Jason's jaw, up to an ear and then around to grip the back of his neck, _hard_. Jason takes in a slow breath, wincing a little bit, but still doesn't fight when he pulls him away from the wall and pushes him into movement.

"Lead the way," he orders, keeping his nails dug into Jason's neck. "Back entrance; no witnesses."

Jason obeys, moving forward at a slow enough walk that he can easily keep pace without sacrificing his grip. It doesn't take much to circle through the gardens around the manor, back to the kitchen entrance set into a protected nook. Normally Alfred's domain, but the butler is out keeping the wait staff in order so it's safe. Up a back flight of stairs, and then Jason leads him through unfamiliar halls and to a seemingly normal wooden door, that he reaches forward and opens with just a bit of hesitation.

It's dark inside, lit only by the moonlight coming in from the window. Enough to see the end of the bed, and a slice of carpet. He shuts the door behind them, flicking the lock before he looks around, finds the light switch, and flips that as well. It turns on a lamp by the bed, illuminating all but the corners of the room. The bed is made, the room clean; more than enough for his purposes.

He pushes down, forcing Jason to drop to his knees, before he squeezes hard for a moment and then lets go. "Stay," he demands, as he moves into the room. He sets his hat and gloves on the desk that's pressed against one wall, and then sets to work unbuttoning his jacket so he can drape it over the chair. Then he turns back to Jason, who's watching him, but still kneeling where he was told to. Slowly, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and retrieves the metal handcuffs from within, dangling them in the air.

"You just carry those with you?" Jason asks, swallowing thickly.

"This is Gotham," is really the only answer he needs. "Strip off the jacket and then get on the bed, hands and knees, head to the top."

There's a moment of hesitation there, but Jason obeys. The suit jacket comes off, and he clicks his tongue disapprovingly when Jason starts to just drop it on the floor, which gets him a little more hesitation before it ends up carefully folded and set there instead. The formal white shirt beneath fits him well, clinging in at the inwards angle of his waist, and it's that he watches as Jason crosses the room and climbs onto his bed. He moves forward then, slipping onto the bed just to the side so he can lean over Jason, peeling one hand off the bed.

He clicks the handcuffs around one wrist, making sure that it's over the slight protection of the shirt's cuff, and then tugs it up and circles it through the ornate metal of the headboard. Locking the cuffs shut around Jason's other wrist, trapping him, is easier than he expected. He almost expected Jason to fight him; but now that he's forced small concessions Jason seems to be falling a little more into line. It's good.

"Don't pull too hard against those," he reminds Jason, as he cards and tugs through that head of black hair. "Now, I want you to know that this isn't for your pleasure, or my enjoyment. I _will_ enjoy it, but the point of this is that you've been bad, and you need to be disciplined for it. Do you understand that?"

Jason shivers. "Yes, sir."

He sits back, letting his hand rub down the back of Jason's neck, then a little ways along his spine. "Good. Tell me what you did to deserve this, Jason."

Hesitation, before Jason twists his head to look back. "What?"

He hits _hard_ with his other hand, cracking it across Jason's ass and making him yelp and jerk forward, away from the blow. Clothing dulls it, but to someone not expecting it it's more than enough to startle.

"Tell me why you deserve to be disciplined," he repeats, and then adds, "You told me you understood that you'd been bad, and needed to be disciplined. Why?"

Jason squirms, and he wraps his hand in that hair and drags his head up to stop him. "I— I understood the _concept_ , not the specifics."

"Sir," he corrects, with a lighter swat to Jason's ass. "You broke the law dozens of times, trying to bait me into reacting. I don't mind that you baited me, but I do mind that you used my work to do it. You're a brat, Jason, and that's not a bad thing, it's just how some people are. But you need to learn the lines that shouldn't be crossed. Flaunting my job to get my attention is one of those lines. Clear?"

He watches as Jason's legs shift, knees digging into the bed. "Clear, sir."

He lets go of the hair curled between his fingers, stroking at Jason's scalp instead in small, rewarding circles. "So, you understand that this is about disciplining you; not anything else?"

"How many times are you going to fucking say it? _Yes_ , I understand."

" _Sir_ ," he corrects, more sharply. "Watch the mouth, Jason."

"Yeah, that's what most people want, _sir_." Jason twists to look back at him, eyes narrowed, mouth in a sharp little grin. "Are you going to _do_ something or just talk at me?"

He gives Jason a thoroughly unimpressed look, pulling the hand away from his hair. "You won't get away with that attitude forever," he promises. "You already deserve more than you can handle, Jason, so _this_ time I'm going to let it go."

"Promising a next time already?"

He ignores the jab, lowering his hands to slip around Jason's waist and work his belt open, tugging his slacks and the boxers beneath down past the curve of his ass. He can hear Jason pull in a sharp breath, but he keeps his hands otherwise to himself, and the brush of their skin coincidental. He lets the clothing pool at Jason's knees, then shifts down the bed to kneel partially behind him, one leg slotting between Jason's calves and pinning down the clothing to hobble him.

Jason shivers, and he looks up the length of his covered back, to the way Jason's head is tucked down against one shoulder now. "What are you going to do when you're done?" he asks again, lifting his left hand to gently touch Jason's back, just above his tailbone.

Another shiver. "Tell you, sir."

"And what is this for?"

Jason gives a small snarl, and then shoves out a breath that he follows with, "Because I broke the law; crossed lines I shouldn't have to get your attention." A pause, and then a grunted, " _Sir_."

"You've done it a _lot_ , Jason," he points out. "More than I can punish you for without stretching this into two scenes, and I don't want to do that. So, we're going to go until you can't take anymore, and consider that settled." Jason's hands curl into fists, thighs tensing, clearly bracing. He smothers a smirk at that; whatever Jason's done before, he clearly doesn't know that tensing up is just going to make the impact worse. "Alright, are you ready to begin, Jason?"

A little more tension. "Yes, sir."

He waits another few moments, until the tension fades a bit and Jason starts to look back, before he lets his left hand swing. Not too hard, to start with, but enough to make Jason flinch forward, and send a rather loud sound through the air. He drops his other hand down to curl around the front of Jason's thigh, holding him in place so he can't pull away. He keeps it on the lighter end of the scale; enough to hurt, but not enough to bring this to an abrupt end right here at the start.

If he ramps it higher more slowly, he can get Jason to last longer, and to take _more._ Enough to leave him bruised and aching for a long time, so he doesn't forget this lesson anytime soon. Immediate gratification is nice, but it's not enough to sacrifice the point of this whole thing, and he doesn't want to have to repeat it again. Slow and steady. Build the pain, and the heat, and beat the lesson into his skin. Then maybe they can move onto something else, next time.

Yes, he is thinking about a next time.

Jason learns quickly that being tense hurts more, and it may be mostly natural reaction, but he eases between each blow. Pulls tight in reaction to each strike and then loosens again, shoulders shifting, sounds muffled by gritted teeth and then by the pillow beneath his head, when he bites into it. He doesn't let any of that distract him, and he pushes away the thoughts of any sort of future planning. It's entirely possible Jason won't be interested after tonight, or that he'll get scared off, or even that he might just decide this isn't for him.

So no matter how nice the thought is of getting his hands on Jason in a better, more pleasurable way, he's not going to let himself think about it. That's the way to disappointment.

Eventually the hand he has on Jason's thigh isn't enough to hold him in place. The small hisses and grunts have grown into sharp noises of pain, interspersed with the occasional yelp when he hits something particularly tender. When his hand starts to sting he pauses, shifting over Jason's legs — watching the faint tremble to his arms and thighs, and the way his head is bowed — and orienting himself to use the other hand. Perks of being ambidextrous.

His left hand he presses down against the small of Jason's back, slowly forcing him down to the bed and flat on his stomach. He leans his weight into it, making sure he's pinned Jason thoroughly enough to actually keep him down before he starts hitting with his right hand instead.

That gets him a sharply increased volume of sound; his right arm is still the stronger one, habit and all that. Jason's skin is red beneath his palm now, broken blood vessels just barely beginning to show up in places he's hit harder, and a little more repeatedly. It's an interesting piece of knowledge that Jason apparently is on the easier to bruise side of the scale; he has to push away another swell of thoughts about what else he could do to bruise Jason's skin up into pretty patterns.

Eventually Jason jerks at a particularly hard blow, cuffs drawing tight against the headboard's bars as he shouts into the pillow. He pauses, watching how Jason's shoulders are trembling, listening to the sharp, heavy breaths.

He eases the pressure on Jason's low back and slowly moves up the bed, until he's sitting next to one of Jason's arms and he can reach out and slide his fingers through the slightly damp hair. Jason shivers, and he gently pulls upwards until the younger man has to look at him, blue eyes somewhat hazed, mouth open to allow those almost-pants. He lets his other hand come in to support Jason's head, as he gentles the fingers in his hair to just stroke over his scalp.

"You with me?" he asks softly. The shift of a small nod, and he clicks his tongue. "I'm going to need you to answer me verbally, Jason," he murmurs. "Can you do that for me?"

Jason takes in a slower breath, eyes squeezing shut for a second. "Yes, sir," he breathes, voice low and rough.

"That's good," he praises, then he waits for Jason's eyes to open again and look up at him before he says, "Are you done?"

A little bit of hesitation, and then a slow exhale, as the trembling eases a touch. "No, sir. Not yet."

"Close?"

Jason's fingers curl around the bars of the headboard. "Yes, sir."

He hums, stroking through Jason's hair one more time before he lowers his head back to the pillow beneath it. "Alright. We're going to do ten more, and I'm not going to hold back, alright?" This time he allows the small nod, instead of an actual answer. "Good. You're going to count them for me. If you miss one, it's not going to count. Do you understand?"

By the way Jason's eyes slip down to half-lidded, shoulders shifting to put force behind the grip on the bars, he's pretty sure the answer is 'yes.' He still waits until Jason manages, "I understand, sir."

"Repeat it to me."

A heavier breath. "I'll— Ten more, and I'll count them, sir. If I miss it, it doesn't count."

"That's right. Alright, up on your knees for me, Jason. Come on." He helps guide Jason to push back up onto his knees and elbows, back a downwards slope to where his head is hanging between his arms. He keeps a hand on Jason's back as he circles back around, making sure that Jason knows where he is the whole time. Silently, he checks to make absolutely sure the keys to the handcuffs are in his pocket for easy retrieval, and then he asks, "You ready to start?"

Jason's hands tighten on the bars, the muscles of his arms tensing while everything else relaxes. " _Yes_ , sir."

He still waits a couple of seconds, out of a mixture of anticipation and taking in his own slow breath. True to his words, he doesn't hold back. He's got some serious strength in his arms, and he uses it to _slam_ his palm into Jason's ass, the sound cracking across the room only a little obscured by how Jason yelps and jerks forward.

He waits, and Jason gasps in air and then manages, "O-One, sir."

"Good boy," he praises, soft. And then strikes again.

Jason doesn't jerk nearly as bad the second time, clearly more prepared for the level of impact, and his answer comes faster. He allows himself a small smile, for just a second. Brat, _definitely_ , but Jason learns fast and he can take a hell of a lot more than most first-time people he's played with. It's… enticing, he's not going to lie. He can adjust to just about everything, but he _likes_ the ones that can really sink into a harder beating. _Likes_ the ones that call him 'sir' with sincerity.

His fifth strike comes down on some of those early-forming bruises, and Jason shouts and misses the chance to count it. So he pauses, lets Jason recover enough to straighten further up, and then gently prompts, "This is still five, Jason. Try it again."

Jason gets it the second time, and even though he shouts and jerks he doesn't miss another strike. At ten, he exhales and then strikes just about as hard as he can with an open palm, and Jason gives a short _shriek_ , back arching.

He's breathless, and sounds almost delirious, when he gasps, " _Ten_ , sir!"

He moves quickly but smoothly, shifting up to unlock the cuffs and then ease Jason down to the bed, as those broad shoulders shake.

"That's good," he whispers, lying down and carefully pulling Jason partially on top of him, arms around his back, and careful fingers in his hair. "That was _very_ good, Jason. You did very well."

Fingers curl into his shirt, clutching at him, and Jason's forehead presses hard into his shoulder. He can hear the ragged, strained breaths, and he tilts his head to press a soft kiss to Jason's temple. Jason gives a small whine.

He shifts, guiding Jason's head sideways and twisting his own down, until those slightly wet blue eyes are looking at him and he can offer a small smile and a, "You with me, Jason?"

A shudder, but the fingers in his shirt curl tighter. "Yes, sir," Jason answers, voice quiet and breathless and _way_ too attractive.

"We're done, alright? You took what you needed to; you're forgiven, sweetheart." Jason visibly eases, and he smiles a little wider. "Good boy," he whispers. "You just needed a little discipline, huh? Feels good doesn't it, Jason?"

Jason's mouth curls into a tired, slightly loopy smile, and then laughter is being muffled into his shoulder. He waits it out, smiling down at him until Jason looks back up and says, "Yeah. Yeah it does, sir."

He combs Jason's hair away from his eyes. "When you come off the endorphin rush, we're going to need to talk about all this. Later. Right now, I'm here for whatever you need. Just let me know."

He gets a small hum for that, and then Jason presses closer to him, head pushing in against his neck. "This 's good," comes the mumble.

The smiles comes completely unbidden, and he closes his eyes and lets Jason throw an arm over his chest and then burrow it down underneath his back to hold him close. He relaxes into it, stroking his fingers through Jason's hair in gentle, steady lines, letting him come down from the high. Slowly, inch by inch, Jason relaxes into him too, going limp and boneless underneath his fingers.

Which is, naturally, just a moment before his phone starts vibrating.

He jerks a little, startled, and so does Jason except that ends with a pained hiss let loose against his throat, and a small shudder. He strokes a hand down Jason's back, soothing him first, and then reaches down and digs into the pocket of his dress-pants for the offending piece of technology. Dick's face is on the screen, and he freezes up for a second before carefully breathing out and answering it.

"Dick, hey, what's up?"

Jason shifts against him, looking up.

 _"Roy, hey! Where are you? Chief's getting ready to do that joint-speech thing with Bruce, and Bruce wants to know if you're going to be here in time cause he doesn't want to say, 'and my son's partner,' and then have you not be here. Did you head home or something?"_

"No, I'm here. I'm— Uh…" He winces, and then offers, "I'm 'handling' things."

Dick's silent for a second, and for that same second he thinks that maybe even with all the semi-encouragement he might have genuinely fucked up. Then Dick says, _"Handling things, hm? Well, then I will just let Bruce know you won't be here and let you get back to that."_ It sounds fine enough, until Dick's voice drops into something amused and wicked. _"Should I ask Alfred to set another place for breakfast?"_

He stalls, looking down at Jason and finding him almost grinning. He tries to ask a question through some kind of unspecified expression and the raise of an eyebrow, and Jason gives a little huff of breath and then a small nod.

"Yeah," he answers, softly and through a growing smile. "Yeah, I think that would be good."


End file.
